


your hands should never be cold

by aminami



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, P5R Spoilers, Poetry if you squint, Post-Canon, Sexual Content, Writer Akira
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26324470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aminami/pseuds/aminami
Summary: “You know, I always thought to myself that if you were the one to create that fake reality, I wouldn’t be able to shake myself awake.”A sleepless night in Tokyo. An offer he can't refuse. A calling card with Goro Akechi's name on it. That's all it takes to turn his world upside down.As Akira struggles to find purpose in the new Metaverse-less reality, a familiar face from the past drags him back into a dangerous game that he has no chance of winning.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 55
Kudos: 337





	your hands should never be cold

**Author's Note:**

> This is my heart and soul presented to you in a story that should have been much better. But please accept it for its flaws - it is a reflection of me, after all.

In the fall of the new decade, Akira finds himself staring blankly at his computer screen, foreign words flowing slowly from his mind towards his fingertips.

Deadline after deadline, night after night. Every evening he forces himself to stay up just an hour longer, for no reason in particular. There are enough hours in a day, and yet he still pushes himself to see as little of daylight as he possibly can.

The attic is warm, it always has been, even with winter just around the corner. It’s one of the places that are incredibly hot or incredibly cold, depending on the time of year. His glasses keep sliding off his sweaty nose, as he keeps pushing them back with the tip of his finger, almost mindlessly.

Ironically, even if he wanted to take them off, he actually does need glasses – he blames years of staring at microscopic fonts of old books that no one but a few still cared about. And yet, whenever he goes outside, he forces himself to put on contact lenses, keeping the old glasses a dirty secret from everyone he knows, including his friends. Morgana, ever the faithful confidant, doesn’t say a word to anyone. But he also doesn’t understand why it’s so important to Akira. Why glasses aren’t just glasses, and why gloves aren’t just gloves.

Morgana gives Akira more and more freedom, and for that much he is grateful. In the silence of the attic, his worried stare is already as loud as it gets.

Akira doesn’t need to look up to know that Morgana’s eyeing him suspiciously. “Have you eaten today?”

 _Scratch, scratch_ on the wooden floor. He doesn’t look up, instead, he pretends like the question surprises him. “Of course. I gave you your food too, didn’t I? Are you still hungry?”

“What did you eat?”

There goes his freedom.

“Fine, so I didn’t eat.” Akira rolls his eyes. “I need to turn this paper in by midnight, which means I have exactly an hour to finish, and I’m still mulling over the conclusion.”

“Is that in English?” Morgana jumps on the bed to peer over his shoulder. “Maybe ask Lady Ann to help you?”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Actually, he fully believes that Morgana doesn’t care much who’s going to help him. He just wants Akira to reach out to people.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Morgana’s also good at pretending. He tries to accent his fake anger by hitting Akira’s side with his tail, but it doesn’t work – they’re both Phantom Thieves at heart, lying is their second nature. Recognizing a lie is just a bonus. “I think you’ve written quite a bit; you really should just finish it at that.”

“You don’t speak English. You don’t even know what it says.”

“I speak Akira,” Morgana defends. “And since I’m so fluent, I can tell you’re overthinking it. Finish up and go to bed. It’s good for you.”

His fingers hesitate over the keys for a moment. He closes and opens his fists as if to check that his hands are still his own. “I just really need to get this done.”

And because Morgana really is fluent in Akira, he understands what Akira needs right now. His eyes glow in the dark like lonely moons of a far-away planet. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Futaba mentioned there was something she wanted to show me, and I bet she’s still not asleep. I’ll be back early in the morning, though.”

Morgana already caught him once, still awake at dawn, and his ears still bleed after that lecture. At least, he still has it better than Cinderella.

There’s something else Morgana’s mulling over, and he patiently waits for him to spit it out. Luckily, it doesn’t take him long to cut to the chase.

“Joker, will you meet Haru tomorrow? She really wants to see you.”

The use of the nickname stings his ears just a bit. This is how he knows Morgana actually means it. “I’ll do my best.”

“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. You’ve been acting weird lately, and I’m… We’re all worried. I don’t want to pressure you, but just know it’s not a bother.”

Akira forces a smile on his face. “I’m not avoiding anyone on purpose. I’ve just been busy. Kind of tired, too.”

“Right.”

The cat stretches before jumping to the floor, his tail brushing against Akira’s arm, and he’s sure the touch is not accidental. It’s another reminder that Morgana speaks Akira’s language.

“Tell Futaba I said hi,” he says, unspoken words hanging heavily in the air between. “And that I’m alright.”

“You can say that to one of the hidden cameras she keeps in the attic.”

“The what now?”

Morgana sends him a long stare as he trips over empty cans of coke near the desk. Akira decides that the comment was just an elaborate ruse to catch his attention, so he doesn’t feel all that sorry for the cat.

“No more coke on an empty stomach,” Morgana warns before sneaking out the window.

He’s alone again and the relief he feels is strong enough to give him goosebumps.

He lied to Morgana – he really has been avoiding everyone. And it might have been on purpose.

He kept it together for a long time. He finished high school, got into a decent university, kept his grades decent enough, he met his friends for lunch, and he tried not to spare a lot of thought to subjects his mind deemed too dangerous.

After finishing his first degree, he started another. He got into a fight with his parents then, his father had already planned his career as a salaryman. What could he tell him? That society would never allow someone with his past to take a high position in any company? That even if his case files were highly classified, the government always keeps a close eye on him? That even freed of charges, he was still an ugly stain that could never be washed clean? 

With Sojiro’s help, he manages to pay for his second degree in English.

It’s like a ticket to running away. A ticket he’s holding in his hands, but he’s too afraid to use.

There’s a lot of dangerous thoughts swirling through his head. He is still a thief at heart, after all.

Somewhere outside the rain pours down, and he wonders if Morgana got home safely. He briefly considers messaging Futaba, but he can’t bring himself to pick up the phone, his fingers as numb as a corpse’s.

He looks at the screen and notices that for some time it’s been nothing but the same letter repeating through what must be three pages – he must have pressed it accidentally with his elbow when he got lost in thought. The letter _A_ seems to be mocking him as he takes a deep breath, and deletes it one by one as if doing it slowly could bring him some sort of comfort.

The textbook is digging painfully into his hip, a grim reminder of his disorganized schedule. He doesn’t even bother to spare it a glance, as he shoves it off the mattress to land somewhere on the floor, next to what must be ten other textbooks. Morgana isn’t there to lecture him tonight, so he allows himself to fall freely into the messy decadence of his academic failure. His bed is covered in books, and really, he should be doing this at his desk, but it so happens his desk is just as crowded with papers, and he just lets the mess grow and take over every inch of his flat like mold.

Akira always keeps his room meticulously clean – save for tonight, but he _really_ is busy – and it’s not just because of Morgana’s whining. It’s the same reason why he refused to move out of Sojiro’s attic, even when his friends all but begged him to rent out a place together. It’s a little more than penance, too. He keeps his uncomfortable bed, he keeps the creaking floors, and he accepts that he’ll likely never have free access to a bath. All for the silliest of reasons.

He’s waiting.

The five syllables burn his tongue even when he doesn’t mention _his_ name out loud.

It’s funny how it works – it only takes five syllables to form that person and everything they’ve been through. And only a single gunshot to eliminate it.

It’s been years since he last saw Akechi after the battle with Maruki. But even when his friends think he’s gone, Akira knows he just needs to be patient.

There’s an old saying that history teachers often recall when talking about the Sengoku period. He knows about it from Akechi too. He recalls a conversation that happened in a different lifetime, Akechi’s smile as he leans towards Akira in the dim-lit jazz club.

_What would happen if the three warlords were presented with a bird that can’t sing?_

_Nobunaga would have killed it without mercy. Hideyoshi would cunningly force it to sing again. Ieyasu would simply wait._

_So, Akira? Which one are you?_

Akira doesn’t want the bird to sing.

He just wants to see it flutter its wings again.

He waits.

He knows he’ll recognize the door jingle out of all the other jingles.

He’ll hear in it everything that he hopes to see – a gloved hand hesitating as it slowly opens the door. Then the same hand will travel to wind-blown hair, tucking it behind his ear in a defensive gesture. He will nod to Sojiro, right before closing the door, and he’ll sit at his usual spot.

He’ll pretend not to notice the attic staircase. He’ll pretend not to wait for Akira, and he won’t ask for him, as he’ll take out a book about another long-dead philosopher.

He’ll ask the boss for the house blend. And when he all but finishes his coffee, he’ll hear the slight creaking on the staircase, and he’ll fight the sly grin – the one reserved for Akira alone. He won’t turn around, but he’ll say something Akira can’t comprehend.

Akira can see his profile in his mind’s eye. Of course, he looks the way Akira remembered him. He hasn’t aged, not even a day. The light shining through the door would make his hair slightly red – and Akira would stare at it because nothing would stop him.

He lets the red of Akechi’s eyes and the tint of red in hair reach out to him, slowly clouding his vision. The radiant smile, a slight cock of Akechi’s head – all the things he doesn’t deserve to see.

_slowly but surely_

_the image of_

_your blood covered hands_

_reflects in your eyes_

_you reach out to touch me_

_to wipe your fingers clean_

_against my red tainted gloves_

_as fake as the blood_

_that I was afraid to draw_

_perhaps once upon a time_

_your sky was still blue_

_the shade of your eyes_

_not yet filled with blood_

  
It ends just like that.

The truth is, he can’t shake Akechi’s presence. It’s why he’s unable to see his friends anymore. He gets an obsessive feeling that they can tell what he’s going through, but what he’s feeling requires complete solitude. He doesn’t want anyone to intrude on his feelings, possessively keeping Akechi’s memory to himself.

Akechi’s finally done it – he has all of him, his heart, his body, and his soul. And he’s not even there to collect his winnings.

Yet, he foolishly believes he’ll see him again. Any day, someday he will show up. And he’ll keep everything prepared for that day.

Something that’s a little more than a memory and a little less than a ghost, leans against his side at all times, Akechi’s voice soft like silk in his ear.

 _I see you kept the place clean for me? Or at least, tried to. Are you still hoping I’ll waltz back in like I used to? Are you still that desperate for my praise?_

It’s hard to ignore his voice – it’s everywhere and no amount of background noise will ever be able to deafen it. He hears his voice in the music he listens to, in the cars honking during the rush hour, in the crowd of fellow students discussing their plans for the weekend.

It’s just his voice. There’s never been a time when he’d find someone similar looking in the crowd and run up to them thinking it’s Akechi. How could he, when no one could compare? If Akechi was somewhere close, his entire being would know about it. He might not be a Phantom Thief for some time now, but his instincts are as alert as ever. 

Deep down in his heart, he knows that there is a reason why every night he keeps himself awake.

Akechi’s presence gets stronger with every passing hour. It’s during the night that his voice gets loudest, his presence as thick as the blood running through Akira’s veins.

When he was still a teenager, he forced himself to keep a healthy sleeping schedule, or rather Morgana forced it upon him. It only took one night without Morgana’s presence for him to discover _it_.

There’s a dark secret to life, available to the unlucky few who lost their purpose.

Once you start going to bed late, you’ll never be able to truly stop. There are things you’ll only be able to see when the whole world goes to sleep. Thoughts that would otherwise escape your notice. A whole new world of expressions and feelings that otherwise would seem redundant.

It’s only amplified by the rain.

Every place in the world has a specific color, and it might change depending on the time of day. Some colors remain a secret to everyone but a few determined enough to see them. It’s like entering a different dimension, available for your eyes only.

And so in his twenties, Akira discovers that in the middle of the night, the attic of Leblanc turns green. The shade of green is dark, as dark as an empty bottle of wine.

When he was a small boy, he found a shiny green stone on the beach near his home. He ran to his father with excitement, breaming with childish enthusiasm of having found a precious jewel. With an amused smile, his father explained to him that it was nothing more than a piece of a shattered bottle, smoothed over by the waves and sand. Sea glass, he called it, and Akira’s never been so disappointed.

Even now, the feeling of glass is sharp under his fingertips. His mother liked European wine, but he never asked her for as much as a taste. He can still sense the smell of it, sickening in the small stuffy room. If he stood there long enough, he’d likely get drunk himself. And then the deafening sound of her dropping the bottle on the ground, cursing under her breath, as he quickly ran upstairs to lock himself in the bathroom to escape her wrath.

Second-hand drunk, second-hand joy, second-hand heartbreak.

In the end, all his emotions are borrowed.

The bottle cracks, as he probes it within his mind. The scattered shards glimmer in the city lights like sea glass held under the sunlight.

It’s still raining. He can hear the steady sound of raindrops jumping off the metal rooftop like bullets. The smell of rain sneaks in through the open window, and a gust of wind envelops the room in its tight embrace.

When he closes his eyes, he can imagine the rain dropping on the wooden floors, the water climbing up the walls like overgrown vines on an abandoned building. In his mind, the water’s already reaching his bed, the lonely island among the sea of his own consciousness.

The world outside the window could be drowning for all he cares about. He half expects to see curious fish peeking through the glass when he finally looks up. In the reverse aquarium, the fish would be the ones looking at him, a strange mammal staring aimlessly into the nothingness.

And in that abyss, Akechi’s voice always finds him. Choking him until he can no longer breathe. 

His sense of self melts into –

_The rain_

_falls_

_down._

_Quicker, and quicker, into a staccato of noiseitsoundslikeabulletshoweraimedathisskull, and then slower – goes upwards – goes back to the sky – the clouds part in radiant_

_awe._

_The wind blows from the right._

_It seeps through the cracks._

_The rooftop creaks and then it sighs._

_It raises its arms_

_Upside_

_Down._

From the trap that his own mind has become, he hears a sound.

A phone rings, a little distant, it almost seems made-up too. Everything happens like in a dream – he can’t control his actions, following some unspeakable primal instinct in everything he does.

He lets the phone ring for quite some time, savoring the sound like a distant prayer. Somehow, he knows that no matter how long he waits, the person on the other side won’t stop.

When enough time passes, he picks up – he doesn’t bother to check who’s calling, because his heart already knows before his mind does.

“It’s me,” the voice says. As if no time passed at all.

He could ask him many things. But that night it’s almost as if he has no power over his own tongue.

“How have you been?” The voice that sounds like Akira asks. It sounds flat even to his own ears. In the distance, a thunder rolls, a reminder that the world outside of this room is still very much alive, even if his own body has long been devoured by the flood.

“Busy,” Akechi’s tone is equally dry. He can see it – Akechi looking out the window, watching the same rain that Akira hears pouring down outside his own. His laptop screen grew dim some time ago already, the only source of light in the room coming from some far-away street lantern, and the phone pressed against his ear.

The sound of rain connects them like a lifeline.

“Even now? I’m pretty sure we’re both asleep.”

“Perceptive even inside your own head,” Akechi commends him. “I’m always busy. _Especially_ when I’m asleep.”

“Is there a particular reason you’re calling me now?” Akira asks like he’s asking about tomorrow’s weather.

“I believe both of us are about to get caught up in something quite important,” Akechi says, all business-like. “I felt like it’s necessary to warn you before it happens.”

“Warn me? Since when do you feel the need to warn me?”

“Everything I do, I do for a reason,” Akechi reminds him. “You should have listened to that cat. It’s dangerous to keep yourself awake given our circumstances.”

Akira knows better than to argue, even with this dream-Akechi. “What’s going to happen then?”

“If you’re the person I believe you are, then you’re going to get caught up in it, one way or another. I’m just calling to tell you what I think about it. And I think that you should let go.”

“Let go?”

“Stop punishing yourself. I might be just an image inside your head, but I can tell you what follows – I won’t ever go back to that café. I won’t ever see that attic again. Just move on if you know what’s good for you. There are more precious things for you to mourn.”

“I’m not mourning anyone, I’m just…”

_I’m letting myself be buried with you._

He can almost see Akechi shrug. “I’m not interested in your excuses. I only came because _you_ called me. But let me tell you this – there’s no point in mourning when both of us are still very much alive.”

Akira doesn’t answer, indulging himself in hearing Akechi’s voice.

“In any case, the reason I’m here is because your mind felt it’s necessary for me to say goodbye before I vanish. Consider this warning a parting gift. I hope you’ll remember it when you wake up.”

Akechi’s voice sounds distant as if he’s calling him from a tunnel.

“Goodbye, Joker.”

He hangs up. The sound of rain resumes, louder than before as if someone turned up the volume.

The raindrops fill up Akira’s hollow body until there’s no space left – not even for his soul.

_Tap._

_Tap._

_Tap._

The sound of rain matches the feel of Morgana’s paw patting his leg to catch his attention. Some of his thoughts mend into something resembling a part of a bigger whole.

He rubs his eyes as the sunlight peaks through the attic’s windows. Is it already morning?

“That’s why you should go to sleep early,” Morgana says, as his head bops into Akira’s hand. “This is what it’s like to be sleepless in Tokyo.”

* * *

He keeps his promise to Morgana.

He does his best to look at least presentable when he meets Haru in her coffee shop. Even if he’s a mess, she looks amazing for both of them, and he can feel jealous glances staring daggers into the back of his neck, as he sits across from her in comfortable silence.

“I think I owe you all an apology,” he says finally.

Haru hums, her elegant fingers wrapped around the expensive-looking porcelain. “That may be, but you’re aiming your apology at the wrong person. I’m not mad at you.”

“By that logic, the others _are_ mad at me?”

“Worried might be a better word,” Haru corrects him gently. “But despite what they’re all thinking, we all decided to give you some space.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

She looks at him with a curious smile on her face. “I always remember you getting a little quiet this time of year. I don’t think it was conscious on your part. But we noticed.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“You’re quiet because your brain is constantly overthinking things. You’re rarely quiet because you’re sad.”

Akira snorts. “Well, that might very well be true.”

“What do you think about the blend?”

He takes a careful sip. It’s better than your usual coffee chain, but still nowhere near Sojiro’s. “Might be a bit bland. Maybe think about adding some spices? I prefer my coffee beans a bit more roasted, too. I’m sure you can hire experts who can give you better advice than this, though.”

“I’m looking at one right now.”

“I’m hardly an expert,” he says humbly, but maybe he kind of is.

Haru plays with the hem of her skirt, and it’s a sight he hasn’t seen in a long time. She’s been trying to act more confident ever since she inherited the company. “I know it’s a lot to drop on you, but I was thinking… Maybe when you finish school, you’d want to work here?”

“As a barista?”

“As my advisor. Maybe a manager.”

“I know shit about economics,” he says just to get it out of the way. “Or managing human resources. Or pretty much anything other than coffee.”

“We can teach you everything you need to know,” Haru calms him down. “I have plenty of specialists, but very few who know the job as well as you do. I really can’t think of a better person for the job. Save for Sakura-san, but he’s out of the question.”

Akira can’t help but sigh as he braces himself for her disappointment. “You really shouldn’t let your personal relationships cloud your judgment.”

“Then it’s a no?”

“It’s a maybe,” Akira takes another sip of the bland coffee. It’s not like he has any other plans for the future.

“I don’t want you to agree just because you want to make me happy.”

“Why not?” Akira shrugs. “It’s not like it’s going to make me _unhappy_.”

“Mona-chan said so before, but,” Haru eyes him carefully. “That spark in you really is dying, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t know what to say to such a blatant comment, so he just remains silent. It’s clear as day why Morgana wanted him to meet up with Haru, and he tries not to be angry that his personal life is most likely vivisected in some group chat that he’s not a part of.

“Is this why you’ve been avoiding everyone?”

“I’ll be fine,” he says maybe too quickly. “Might be the fact that I’m nearing graduation, and I still haven’t figured out what I want out of life.”

Haru looks uncomfortable and he almost feels bad for her. Unlike Makoto, she’s not someone who enjoys prying in other people’s business, and while he loves them both, he really doesn’t want to talk about his feelings if he can help it.

Still, he should probably give her at least something. Just so Makoto lets her off the hook.

“I feel like I’m getting a little bit self-centered,” he admits finally. “Even if it’s just inside my own head.”

“You’re sad,” she states more than asks. “It’s okay to think of yourself when you are.”

“It might be permanent.”

“Being sad or being self-centered?”

“Both.”

She looks troubled again, so she smiles to cover up her embarrassment. “Akira, you did your fair share of self-sacrifice, it’s enough to fill a few lifetimes. You can allow yourself to be self-centered for the rest of your life.”

“Self-sacrifice is easy,” he says with a sigh. “It’s living for no one but yourself that’s hard.”

“You don’t owe us anything.”

He kind of does. He feels bad for making his friends worry. He feels bad for falling apart when he’s supposed to be the glue keeping them all together. He feels bad that they probably don’t need him anymore, and then, he feels bad that it bothers him.

“How about I tell you something awful about myself?” Haru says suddenly. “Something I’ve never told anyone before?”

“Haru, it’s really…”

“I prayed for my father’s death.”

She looks weirdly collected as she says that, her face pale and still like the porcelain she loves collecting. “I prayed for it every night. I even imagined killing him, I wondered how I’d do it, how I’d make it a perfect plan... My plans never got particularly deliberate, I never acted on it. But there’s something very _Crime and Punishment_ about it regardless.”

“Raskolnikov killed his victim with an axe,” Akira recalls suddenly. Haru gives him an approving smile.

“That he did. Maybe it’s what affected my cognition? It’s funny. I was so scared of acting upon my selfish desires, and in the end, I did partake in the crime without getting my hands dirty.”

She looks somewhere over his shoulder. He doesn’t ask her what it is that she sees.

“Until we found my father in my palace, right before his death… A small part of me planned to kill him. Would you have judged me if I went through with it?”

“No,” he says seriously. “I wouldn’t have judged any of you. It was always a free choice. I could only hope you’d do what’s right – whatever _right_ means for you.”

“I see,” Haru cocks her head seriously. “What about you, Akira? Did you ever regret not killing Shido?”

“No, but his life was never mine for taking.”

Five syllables. Haru understands, being the wonderful and compassionate human being that she is, and she doesn’t ask him to elaborate.

“You know,” she says. “Mona-chan said you barely sleep, and he can’t comprehend it. He’s still so young, don’t you think? But I get it. Maybe because I’m also longing for someone who’s no longer there, and I have my own basket full of regrets. As I laid wide-awake after my father’s death, I realized that there are some things that can only be said in the middle of the night. I talked to him often then. Sometimes I still do.”

It’s a weird conversation to have in a busy coffee shop. He can hear the voices around him talking about work, relationships in a more or less carefree manner, and he feels weirdly detached from everyone else around him.

Some hollow part of him aches for the same life – it longs for something to make him feel at least content, to fill all the gaps between his bones. To make overthinking less easy. He longs for what Haru has too. He wants to be able to move on the way she did.

“Promise me one thing,” she says suddenly.

“Anything for you, Haru.”

“You should at least listen until I finish the sentence,” she chides him kindly. “Your kindness will be the death of you someday.”

“I’m sorry, I take it back then. What’s the promise?”

She rolls her eyes at him – it’s an odd look on her. “Listen carefully then. Forget about my offer. If you’re ever presented with an opportunity to be selfish, don’t think about anyone else. Just this once do the self-indulgent thing. For your sake, not anyone else’s.”

“You mean I should just say fuck it all and do it no matter the consequences?”

“Precisely!” her enthusiasm is contagious. “Fuck it all!”

He laughs under his breath, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders. “You’re the most unpredictable person I’ve ever met, and I’ve met a lot of dangerous people.”

“Being rich has its perks,” she answers lightheartedly, but he can sense the guilt behind these words. “I can afford to say fuck it all. I’m really not that brave.”

“I think you’re plenty brave.”

Haru might be carefree, but she’s not easily fooled into changing the subject. “Then will you do it?”

“It doesn’t seem like something I can just promise blindly.”

“You were ready just a few minutes ago.”

“That’s because I thought you needed me to do something for _you_.”

“And isn’t that exactly your issue?”

“You sound like…”

He bites his tongue to stop himself from saying the name. He hasn’t said it for such a long time that at this point, it feels like his whole world would collapse if he did. 

A phone call saves him from having to finish the sentence, and Haru excuses herself to answer it. He empties his cup while she’s gone, but it doesn’t make him feel more awake. He forces himself not to think about anything in particular until Haru’s return. He greets her with a forced smile.

Haru returns the smile, somehow apologetically. “It seems like I’m needed back at the office. Thank you for listening to me, and… I’m really sorry. I feel like I pushed you too hard today. At least think about what I’ve said?”

He helps her put her coat on, ever the gentleman, even if no longer a thief. He lets his gaze wander as he watches her go, feeling another ping of jealousy as she hurries through the door. 

He misses being busy.

It’s not like he’s not busy – there’s a lot of things that require his attention, and the university deadlines make him more stressed out than he’s been during his entire career as the leader of the Phantom Thieves.

He mostly misses being busy with a clear goal in his mind.

Just being in this café that Haru built with her own effort makes him feel like everyone else around him has moved on. He pretends to move along with them, forcing his legs to take one step each day. But in the end, he always comes back to the same place, feeling like he needs to start over since he’s long lost the one thing they have – a purpose.

His eyes move between the unfamiliar faces of the customers with a childish hope that he’s going to find something, anything to make him get up from the chair with a newly found resolve. Maybe he really should just accept Haru’s proposal. Maybe if he only let himself…

_like a clock forced to stop_

_I find your gaze_

_between empty chairs_

_and filthy coffee cups_

He would have freaked out if he didn’t think it’s a dream.

A pair of red eyes meet his.

Akira almost wants Akechi to look surprised. He wants to believe it’s all a coincidence – that his instincts would have kicked in, and he’d feel someone observing him and Haru for God knows how long. But his instincts were dormant for a long time now, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he decided to observe the crowd on a whim, he’d leave without even noticing Akechi sitting right under his nose, drinking what looks to be some expensive pretentious coffee.

When Akechi doesn’t make a move to escape, Akira abandons his empty cup of coffee to sit at Akechi’s table instead. Akechi looks slightly amused if anything, and yes, he was definitely watching Akira’s every move. Just how long he’s been stalking Akira, he’ll likely never know.

It should be illegal how good Akechi looks, as he watches Akira with a sly smile. His skin looks radiant, slightly tan as if he just came back from a two-week vacation to the Caribbean. His clothes alone probably cost more than everything Akira owns. Then again, it’s just like Akechi. He always did enjoy being pampered. Akira feels like a dirty rag in comparison.

“Hi,” Akechi says in English, taking off his sunglasses, giving him his best TV smile. “It’s been a while, _Kurusu-kun_.”

The last syllable is basically a purr and Akira’s shaking with anger.

The fact that Akechi greets him in English only confirms his suspicions that Akechi’s been stalking him for a very long time. It’s a subtle game that they play, they always did. There’s no doubt in his mind that Akechi already knows exactly what Akira’s been up all these years – he knows everything, starting with his grades, his new phone number, ending with his last blood results.

He knew that if he finally saw Akechi alive in front of him, he’d likely quickly become overwhelmed by a wave of contradicting emotions – joy and sadness, relief and panic, curiosity, and apathy.

He doesn’t quite expect the amount of sheer fury that shakes his body to the core.

Akira’s always felt a lot of anger that he didn’t feel like addressing for a lot of reasons – he always had someone counting on him, or expecting his help, so he kept pushing his own needs and feelings down the priority list.

Among all the negative feelings he’s felt – resentment towards the villains they met along the way being one of them – he could never bring himself to truly hate someone.

For the first time, he fully understands the hatred and hostility he felt from Akechi after their duel in Mementos.

Right now, there’s nothing he’d want more than to punch Akechi and wipe that stupid grin off his face.

“We’re in public,” Akechi says coldly, reading his mind. At least the smile is gone now. “You can have a go at me later. Sit down. We have a lot to discuss.”

He feels like a puppet in Akechi’s nimble fingers, but he sits down wordlessly. He’s rewarded with another smile, a little more genuine. Here’s to small graces.

“I suppose since it’s been a while,” Akechi begins. “I owe you some answers.”

“Are you going to tell me the truth?” Akira snorts.

“You’ll never know,” Akechi says as he shrugs off his expensive-looking coat. “But you don’t have a better choice now, do you? You’re going to have to discern the truth on your own.”

“Is this a game to you?”

“We both like games,” Akechi smirks. Akira can't bring himself to disagree. “The first movement belongs to white pieces, doesn’t it? Go on, your first question.”

“Where have you been?” He asks, half-expecting not to get an answer. It’s probably best to start with simple questions anyway.

“Europe,” Akechi replies with a bored expression on his face. “Mostly France and Germany. Following the footsteps of my favorite writers and philosophers. Is that underwhelming?”

Akira shakes his head, biting his lip to keep himself from grinning. “Just the right amount of pretentiousness I’d expect from you. That or a private island – I imagined you sipping drinks under a parasol on more than one occasion.”

“Well, contrary to popular belief teenage detectives don’t earn that much money,” Akechi says with a hint of annoyance. “A private island would be nice, though.”

Akechi leans in his seat, taking a good luck at his surroundings as if he just noticed they’re in a coffee shop. “Quite the crowd. Okumura-san really made the business bloom at such a young age.”

“You should have come to Leblanc if you wanted to avoid crowds.”

“If I came to Leblanc, I’d find myself incapable of leaving. Besides – it’s harder to eavesdrop when in a crowd.”

There it is. The main event – if Akira plays his cards right, maybe he’ll only get one pretentious story before being able to ask Akechi about what he’s actually been doing all these years.

“Next question. Do you remember what happened?”

“You mean at Maruki’s palace?” Akechi scowls, the name on his tongue sounding more like a curse. “Yes. I do remember everything that happened. Which I suppose only proves that I wasn’t just a cognition if that soothes your nerves.”

“Why didn’t you reach out to me then? I texted you so many times. I just wanted you to let me know you’re alive. That’s all you had to do.”

“Our deal was off – there was nothing more I wanted to say to you.”

_There wasn’t anything I needed out of you. But I do need something now._

“Are you going to tell me what you want, or should I go back to drowning in deadlines, while pondering hanging myself on one of the attic beams?”

Akechi ignores him – Akira has no doubt his personal feelings are of little importance to a guy who just came back from the dead. He could probably tell him he’s married and has five kids, and has recently been nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize, and he still wouldn’t get a reaction.

“Do you know the story of Van Gogh’s chairs?” Akechi asks instead.

Pretentious story – take one.

“What about the chairs?” he responds with fake interest, keeping a triumphant smirk off his face.

“For a time, Van Gogh lived with a fellow painter, Paul Gauguin,” Akechi explains in his know-it-all's voice, as always happy to discover he knows something that Akira doesn’t. “Gauguin was already a famous artist at the time, and Van Gogh viewed him both as his rival and his master. When he first invited Gauguin to his cottage in south France, he prepared his room in excitement for his visit. A few days later, he attacked Gauguin with a razor, and the same event led Van Gogh to cut off his own ear. Gauguin still refused to see him and returned to Paris on Christmas Day.”

“What does it have to do with chairs?”

“As I’m sure you’re aware, Van Gogh painted two paintings – one of his own, and one of Gauguin’s. They’re exact opposites of each other – one clearly painted in daylight, the other clearly during the evening. The paintings represent just how much Van Gogh valued their friendship, despite his mental breakdown. They’re both wonderful pieces of art.”

Akira vaguely recalls Yusuke calling him Theo and he smiles faintly. “So which one are you? Gauguin or Van Gogh?”

“Neither,” Akechi rests his chin on his hand. “It’s just a story that I felt like sharing. That’s all.”

“That’s bullshit. Everything you say has a double meaning, and you love how I’m too stupid to recognize it without research.”

“It’s a rival’s job to push you to get better,” Akechi drinks his coffee with a funny expression – he seems to dislike the taste. “Next question.”

“What’s the real reason? Why did you go to Europe?”

“So you’re certain that I went to Europe?”

“I can tell a truth from a lie well enough,” Akira challenges. “ _This time_ you only lied about the reason. It was a rather half-assed lie too, I’m almost offended.”

Akechi opens his mouth and for some reason, Akira knows he’s not going to get another pretentious story – no, he knows Akechi well enough. Head tilted to the side, slightly scrunched up nose, his eyes stubbornly avoiding Akira’s gaze. He’s about to tell him something personal.

“When I was a child, I always wanted to go to Europe. Of course, it was nothing more than a pipe dream. My mother was poor, she struggled to put food on the table, I don’t think we’ve ever been on vacation. The furthest we went was a park near our apartment complex to watch cherry blossoms.”

“There was a teacher at my school that liked me a lot – or at least tolerated me, unlike most. I was a clingy child, starved for affection. Not something adults like dealing with. The teacher recently came back from a honeymoon in Europe – she showed me pictures of different countries. She told me if I worked hard, surely someday I’d be able to make a trip like that, too.”

“Even when I became a detective, and I all but sealed my fate by teaming up with Shido, I dreamed about going to Europe. Somehow it seemed like some wondrous land where all my problems would magically disappear. A land where I wouldn’t be…”

Akechi visibly jumps as if he snapped out of some trance.

“I forgot,” he says quietly. “That you have this effect on me.”

“You didn’t go to Germany just to pretentiously read Hegel while chilling in some suburban café,” Akira opposes, still digesting what Akechi said. “I don’t doubt that everything you just said is true – but you had a different goal in mind.”

“Oh?” Akechi leans in his chair with a satisfied smirk on his face. “Why did I go to Germany then, my dear Watson?”

“To get revenge,” Akira says easily, and Akechi’s eyes narrow at that. “I imagine Shido’s dogs scattered around the world like the scared little mutts they are. And as far as you’re concerned, the game is still afoot.”

It’s Akira’s turn to lean in his chair, observing Akechi’s anguish with a sly grin. “So how about it? Did you land yourself a dead German shepherd?”

“I’m only after nasty Akitas,” Akechi says slowly. “Hunting them for sport makes me feel alive. Besides, it’s thrilling, don’t you think? Chasing the bad guys, watching them squirm. You’d love it.”

Akira hates that he’s right.

“Not afraid of getting your hands dirty?”

“You just want me to tell you if I killed anyone,” Akechi states more than asks. “And the answer is no. Some of them might wish I did, though.”

“What are you saying?”

“One of them happened to be very close with his cousin,” Akechi plays with a silver spoon, watching it reflect light off one of the chandeliers. “The other cheated on his wife with another man. The one I particularly enjoyed hunting was a guy who’s notorious for selling kids off for prostitution. It’s not like they’re good people.”

“Here I was hoping you’d grow out of blackmail.”

“As an ex-leader to all-righteous Phantom Thieves, shouldn’t you commend me?” Akechi challenges. “I’m punishing the bad guys while operating in the very gray area of the law. It’s all very _noble_.”

“What happened to your justice? Being a detective didn’t teach you to praise the system?”

“The system doesn’t determine my sense of justice,” Akechi says harshly. “It never has. Just because our sense of justice differs, doesn’t mean I’m always siding with the law.”

It feels funny to talk to him like that. It’s almost as if they went back in time to the moment when they were nothing more than a detective and a thief. Still, he can’t help but feel proud of Akechi. As he said, it’s not like he’s tormenting innocent law-abiding citizens.

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

Akechi ponders the question for a moment. “I came to you because as much as I hate to admit it, I need your help.”

“My help? Or the Phantom Thieves’ help?”

“ _Your_ help. Specifically.”

He could ask many questions. But because Goro Akechi’s always been able to play him like a fiddle he chooses this one, “What’s the job?”

“I’ll contact you soon enough,” Akechi says calmly. “It’s not the right place to discuss such things anyway.”

“I’m not going to help you unless you give me something, anything, to go on.”

Akechi seems a little defeated, but at the same time, he looks as if it’s the exact reaction he expected. “Alright. If you’re going to be stubborn…”

He reaches inside his coat to pull out a small envelope. He slides it across the table, watching Akira take it in his hands wordlessly. He’s about to open it when Akechi slaps his wrist in a warning.

“Open it when I’m gone.”

“What difference does it make?”

Akechi bites his lip and Akira’s never seen him so torn. “What you’ll find inside is going to look familiar. The truth is, I want you to steal someone’s heart.”

“Steal someone’s heart?” Akira almost laughs. “What are you talking about, it’s not even…”

“You’ll understand when you open the envelope. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

He gets up so fast, Akira’s surprised there’s no cartoonish blur to his movements as he puts on his coat and sunglasses. He nods to Akira instead of saying goodbye, but Akira stops him.

“I’m still happy that you called me that night,” he says.

Akechi raises his eyebrows from under his glasses. “I never called you. Must have been a nice dream, though.”

For the first time, Akira can’t tell if he’s lying. He watches Akechi go, squeezing the envelope in his suddenly sweaty fingers. He takes his time with it, unsure if Akechi’s still out there, watching him carefully. He orders another coffee and checks his phone for new messages – he ignores all of them but one from an unknown number.

_I’ll be counting on you._

It’s the only encouragement that he needed. He opens the envelope.

Inside, there’s a small piece of paper – really small, it might as well be a business card. It’s scarlet red, a familiar shade that makes his heart race against his better judgment. He laughs under his breath at Akechi’s audacity – to think a victim would share a card with the thief.

The calling card is addressed to Goro Akechi.

* * *

_your arrow_

_split me open_

_on that autumn day_

_you laughed_

_cruel little boy_

_incapable_ _of a single mercy killing_

_but you were split too_

_pinned down by your own_

_rain of arrows_

_and people still praised you_

_because your aim was true_

_hey_

_look_

_my_

_blood_

_is_

_still_

_thick_

_even then you smiled brightly_

_as you caught my red wrist_

_and you saw me dripping_

_all out_

_for you_

_to_

_see_

* * *

“I see you managed to dodge your Lost Boys, Peter.”

They’re standing in a dark alley, so uncomfortably narrow that they’re almost touching chest to chest. When Akechi texted him the details, Akira all but ran out of Leblanc, hungry if not for Akechi, then for a little adrenaline, he’s been missing from his life all this time. For the first time in ages, he feels alive.

“I didn’t bring my phone with me,” Akira says. “Futaba could be listening in. She still has the city cameras and there’s no doubt in my mind she already knows we’re together. But at least this way she can’t eavesdrop.”

“They have that little faith in you, huh?”

Akechi sneers, trying to look casual, but he looks a little more tired than the last time Akira saw him – he’s wearing more inconspicuous clothing, the two of them looking like nothing more than regular university students.

“I imagine it’s you that they don’t trust,” Akira snorts. “I left them a note, told them not to worry. They still will, but I hope that won’t mess with our plans.”

“Our plans,” Akechi muses. “Very well. Let me lay out some ground rules then.”

He’s eyeing the building, tall enough to be visible from the alley. Akira doesn’t know how they’re supposed to go in unnoticed, but there’s no doubt in his mind that Akechi has some flawless plan.

“First of all,” Akechi begins. “Congratulations, Takeuchi-san. You’ve been hired as a janitor in one of Japan’s top cosmetic companies. Please don’t get overwhelmed by your new responsibilities.”

He shoves a bundle of clothes and an ID into Akira’s hands. He takes a look around but for the moment, there are not many passersby. Akira doesn’t ask any questions, wordlessly putting on his uniform under Akechi’s pleased gaze. It’s hard with how narrow the alley is, but somehow, he manages to zip himself up, his shoulder the sole casualty in what felt like an uneven fight with the wall behind him.

When he’s done, Akechi pulls out hair gel and before Akira can get a word of protest, his hands are already in Akira’s curls, covering them with the slick to make them look more tamed.

“Perfect,” he concludes, leaning back to admire his handiwork. “You look awful. Would be great if you could lose the glasses too.”

“I actually need them to see,” Akira says, ignoring Akechi’s snicker. “Stop it. I couldn’t wear lenses since I don’t know how long it’s going to take. They make my eyes hurt.”

“Fair enough,” Akechi looks way too amused for his liking.

He pulls his own hair into a neat ponytail and Akira wants to ask why he’s not willing to ruin _his_ hair, but the answer seems obvious enough. He pulls out a simple black uniform jacket and puts it on, smoothing the fabric with his hands. “My name is Saito and I’m the new assistant – also known as the coffee boy.”

“Shouldn’t I be the coffee boy?”

“You don’t look good enough to be an assistant in a cosmetics company.”

Akira briefly wonders when he’s finally going to be allowed to punch Akechi in the face.

“Bad news is,” Akechi continues. “You’ll be fired today for stealing valuable data. My condolences.”

“That’s okay, I wanted to aim higher than that anyway.”

His joke goes unacknowledged. “Ground rules then. Or maybe I should say the ground rule because there’s really just one – you’ll do what I ask without questioning me.”

“No.”

Akechi rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue in annoyance. “Then you’re not coming.”

“I’ll never blindly listen to anyone,” it’s a lie and they both know it. “Especially you.”

“It’s just for the sake of our infiltration,” Akechi’s voice sounds more pleading. “I won’t ask you to kill anyone.”

“Then what do you have in mind?”

“When I say run, you run. When I say hide, you hide. When I say leave the data, and get out of here, you’ll run for your life. When I say leave me behind, you’ll leave me behind. Understood?”

Akira knows how pointless it is to fight Akechi once his mind’s made up, but he tries to anyway. “I won’t leave you behind.”

“How very noble,” Akechi pronounces every word slowly as if to make sure they’re filled with enough venom. “But with your reputation as an ex-leader of the Phantom Thieves, you can’t afford sentiment. Do you want to put your friends in danger again? Do you think Sae Nijima would still be able, or even willing to help you? Can you guarantee their safety if you get arrested?”

He hates that Akechi always knows what to say to make Akira play into his hands. He lets out a tired sigh, instinctively trying to run his hands through his hair, only to find them unpleasantly sticky. He winces.

“Fine. Let’s do this then, _Leader._ ”

“Great,” Akechi’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Follow me, _Joker_.”

* * *

“I saw five guards on the twentieth floor,” Akira mutters. They’re in a bathroom, pretending to wash their hands for what must be good five minutes already. The clock is ticking. “And then ten on the next one. If you ask me, we should just come back another day.”

“There’s no time,” Akechi whispers back. “Besides, it’s not going to get any better. I came prepared for the worst.”

Akira briefly wonders what ‘the worst’ means in Akechi’s language, but he decides not to ask. “What do you want me to do?”

“I’ll go alone,” Akechi’s already raising a finger to silence him. “You’ll keep watch on the staircase between the twentieth and twenty-first floor, pretending to clean the railing. You’re going to give me exactly fifteen minutes. I’ll go in precisely at four o’clock, so mind the time.”

Akechi pulls out a cheap-looking watch and slaps it over Akira’s wrist. “If I’m not back by then, you’re going to turn back where you came from, and forget any of this ever happened.”

He knows better than to question him. “Understood.”

“I’ll leave first,” Akechi mutters. “Give it a minute before you go out.”

“Be careful,” Akira says before he can stop himself. Akechi gives him a look so full of disdain that he immediately regrets opening his mouth.

“Don’t be a fool,” Akechi comments before leaving.

Just like Akechi said, he waits sometime before leaving the bathroom. Miraculously, he doesn’t run into anyone as he approaches the staircase. He’s currently on the sixteenth floor. Five floors to climb – right.

He hates how alive he feels as he climbs the stairs, even if his body serves as a painful reminder that he really shouldn’t have slept on exercising all these years. He doesn’t know if there are any cameras on the staircase, so he does his best to look casual as he makes his way towards the twenty-first floor, cleaning some of the railings as he goes.

Somewhere around the nineteenth, the watch beeps announcing a full hour.

He missed this.

He missed the adrenaline, the quickened heartbeat – having it back feels like slipping on a comfortable pair of worn-out shoes after a long day at the office. Even if Arsene isn’t at his side anymore, and his body isn’t as light and spry as it used to be, he wouldn’t replace this feeling for the world.

He spent so long being Akira, but it only takes a second for Joker to take over his body and soul.

Once he successfully made it to the right floor, he keeps himself busy as Akechi said, trying not to look at the watch too often. He briefly wonders what’s going to happen after. Are they just going to walk out, all casual-like? Is Akechi even going to speak to him again?

The time passes painfully slowly.

_You’re going to give me exactly fifteen minutes._

  1. 11\. 12.



Should he start getting worried?

  1. 14\. 15.



Despite what Akechi said, he decides to give it another minute. If he waltzes in, jeopardizing his mission, Akechi’s never going to forgive him.

Yet, another minute passes. And Akechi doesn’t come out. He was supposed to walk out and leave Akechi behind. But it’s not like Akechi expected him to keep his word, did he?

Akira’s hand is already on the doorknob – he can’t leave him. Not again.

The corridor is surprisingly empty.

He’s not actually sure what he’s looking for, since Akechi gave him as little details as possible – a precaution in case they get caught. As he makes his way down the hall, he passes some unconscious guards, likely Akechi’s doing. They seem to still be breathing though, so he lets himself relax.

There’s only one door open, just barely, but it’s enough to catch Akira’s attention. He walks in, quiet like a shadow.

Clearly, not quite enough. His body quickly meets the nearest wall, Akechi’s red eyes millimeters away from his face, and a knife pointed at his throat.

“I told you to get out.”

Akechi lets go of him.

Akira rubs his throat and discovers there’s some blood on his fingertips, probably from where the blade touched his skin. He wipes the blood on the inside of his uniform’s sleeve.

“You really didn’t think I’d listen now, did you?”

Akechi snorts, some of the tension visibly vanishing from his shoulders. “I guess not.”

There’s a body on the ground. And that guy is definitely _not_ breathing.

“Did you kill him?” Akira asks calmly.

“I’m not sure,” Akechi examines the body carefully. “I certainly tried. But I think he poisoned himself. Look at the saliva coming out from his mouth.”

“Poisoned himself? You mean he was…”

Akechi gently lifts the guy's jacket to reveal a gun holster. “How many guards in Japan carry a gun? He was likely sent here to eliminate me.”

“What the fuck did you get yourself into?”

“That’s a question you should have asked when I first asked for your help,” Akechi points out politely. “Now it’s your mess too.”

Akira looks around, torn between getting out of here and questioning Akechi further. “Are we really okay just standing here and talking about this?”

“Whoever this guy is,” Akechi stands up and walks over to a file cabinet. “He was kind enough to take care of cameras on this floor. He didn’t want to be seen. I don’t think anyone is listening to us if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Then let’s get going,” Akira says through gritted teeth. “If the security notices the cameras are out on the entire floor, they’ll come to check what’s wrong.”

“Calm down,” Akechi puts some documents in his briefcase, his movements steady and calculated. He’s a professional – he doesn’t waste his time reading through them, likely already aware of their contents. Akira briefly wonders how many times he’s done it before.

It feels weird to be told to stay calm – Akechi really did take the role of the leader, and Akira feels just a little emptier when stripped of his part.

“Are the guards outside going to be okay?”

“Depends on how fast they’re found,” Akechi gestures for them to head towards the door. “There’s only so long your body can handle without oxygen. Most of them are still breathing, they should be alright.”

“What did you do to them?”

“Did you become a cop during the time I was gone?” Akechi snaps at him. “What’s with all the questions, are you trying to be deliberately obtuse to slow me down?”

“I really don’t care about what you’re doing here,” Akira snaps back. “As long as no one gets hurt.”

“It’s not even that you care about whether they live or die,” Akechi accuses him as they walk down the corridor. “You just don’t want me to be responsible for their deaths. After all this time, you want to believe I’m a good person.”

“Because I still remember how you’d get every time Shido made you kill someone.”

It makes Akechi stop in his tracks. There’s something wild in his eyes when he stops to look at Akira with an expression that’s only reserved for the person he despises most in this world. “Do me a favor – don’t ever assume you know anything about me.”

They don’t speak another word until they leave the building, and judging by Akechi’s deliberate movements, he did his research into camera blind spots as well. No one catches them on their way out, and some sick part of Akira almost wishes that they did.

They change their clothes in the same alley. Akira doesn’t speak again, and apparently, it’s just enough to make Akechi suspicious of him.

“You’re eerily quiet.”

“I’m always quiet,” Akira replies, already tired of saying it.

“You’re hoping that by staying silent you’ll encourage me to spill all my plans to you?”

“It’s been working so far.”

“I forgot how much I can’t stand you,” Akechi says, but there’s some fondness to his voice, and Akira barely manages to cover his smile with a cough. 

“I suppose now you owe me a favor?”

“I owe you a favor?” Akechi’s actually snickering and the cold sound of it makes Akira’s blood freeze in his veins immediately. “As if I haven’t done this little show for you.”

Akira was never one to freak out easily. But it’s always hard to accept when you’re being played. “What do you mean by that?”

“I didn’t need your help,” Akechi says shrugging. “I just wanted to see if you still got that flame.”

“And what’s your verdict?”

“It’s slowly dying,” Akechi says, freeing himself of the ponytail, letting his hair fall loosely on his shoulders. “To a naked eye, it’s nothing but cinders. Don’t get me wrong – I don’t believe in you in the slightest. But I believe in myself. I know I can light up that flame inside of you again, Joker.”

“And what will you get out of it?” Akira asks because it’s not like Akechi to do things on a whim.

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out,” Akechi’s phone buzzes and he checks the message with a furrowed eyebrow. “It seems our presence didn’t go undetected. It’s not unexpected, but I was hoping to get more time. Avoid public transport for today just to be safe.”

“Then how am I supposed to go home?”

“You’re coming with me,” Akechi says, his eyes still focused on his phone. “You need to lie low for a while. I should have mentioned it at the start.”

“That’s it? You’re going to invite me to your lair so easily? No song and dance?”

“Lair,” Akechi repeats with disgust. “Just how old are you? It’s just an apartment.”

He doesn’t know what to make of this new Akechi.

He knew plenty of Akechis – a celebrity, a villain, a rival, a victim, a teammate, perhaps even a friend. But this new Akechi, calm, slowly working towards his carefully calculated agenda is an enigma. It’s a mix of all the sides of him that he knew, resulting in a complete stranger.

“I can hear you thinking,” Akechi comments, finally putting his phone away. “And you should know better than to expect straight answers out of me.”

“I don’t need your answers. I’m just trying to understand you.”

Akechi doesn’t acknowledge his words. “I think it’s best that we walk. Calling a cab might be too dangerous. I don’t want to fight someone inside a small vehicle. The apartment I rented is not too far from here anyway.”

He thinks back to their meeting at the café. “Hiding in plain sight?”

“I don’t think there’s any point in hiding anymore.”

Suddenly, Akira fully comprehends the reason why Akechi brought him into this.

For some unknown reason, he has nothing left to lose.   
  


* * *

> My memory is full of gaps--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------his doing---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Do you remember? It snowed that day and I thought your hands were------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------I couldn’t say-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------I suppose I was hoping you’d have enough flame to--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------But you’re nothing more than ash in the wind----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Why did you get so pathetic when I need you to light my way?

* * *

Akechi’s place is a mess and Akira’s never laughed harder in his life.

“Stop it,” he hears an offended voice, and he forces himself to look up, wiping away the tears that gathered in the corners of his eyes.

Akechi’s looking at him suspiciously as if trying to assess his mental state. He does realize he looks like he’s on the verge of a breakdown, but it’s the funniest thing that’s happened to him in years.

“I’m sorry, just… All this time I thought you’d be a neat freak… All this time, I imagined you dragging me for the mess in my room… When your place looks like this…”

“It’s really touching that you’d assume I care,” he says, his voice the exact opposite of touched. “I already know you’re attic trash, there’s nothing you could do to prove me otherwise.”

He throws his coat on the chair carelessly, so Akira does the same. Aside from the mess, the apartment, like Akechi mentioned, is mostly empty. There are only essential pieces of furniture and some stacks of documents that he politely chooses not to look at. Other than that, there are some empty cups of instant noodles lying around pretty much everywhere, and Akira stiffens a laugh recalling his own empty cans of coke.

There are no paintings, no jazz albums, no pretentious books – nothing he’d expect of Akechi’s place.

Even if the place doesn’t tell him much about Akechi, he feels immediately at home.

There are some places that just wrap you up in their atmosphere like a warm blanket – that’s how Akira felt the very first time he stepped into Leblanc. This place, however, similarly to Akechi himself, doesn’t have sentimentality to spare. But it’s lived-in, which is already more than he expected of the Akechi he knew, and something about it gives him the same feeling he’d get when visiting the jazz club as a teenager years ago.

Akechi sits down at the table, flicking through his tablet with furrowed eyebrows as if he already forgot Akira is there. He didn’t take a single look at the documents inside the briefcase either, so Akira decides to leave the questions for later.

He isn’t told as much, but he decides to make himself at home.

He starts by taking a shower, happy to get rid of the residue hair gel which takes him more time than it should, and he curses Akechi under his breath the whole time. Still, having a bathroom just to himself feels nice. He’s used to public bathhouses, having lived in Leblanc for so many years, but knowing that no one here is looking at him, or expects anything from him makes him feel oddly secure. The warm water makes his muscles less tense and his fingers feel just a little less numb. once He lets them trace the small cut on his neck, and some part of him wishes Akechi had cut him deeper.

When he steps out of the shower, he’s surprised to find a bundle of clothes and a fresh towel sitting on the sink that definitely wasn’t there when he came in. He didn’t even hear Akechi come in, and while he doesn’t particularly mind, once again he marvels at how dulled his instincts have become. The real Akechi, just like the one he made up in his head, moves as quietly as a ghost.

Back in the living room, Akechi’s typing away on his computer at a pace that could rival Futaba’s. Akira doesn’t make a sound as he makes his way to the small kitchenette, but other than an alarming amount of cup noodles, one bottle of wine, and instant coffee, he doesn’t find much.

Instant coffee it is.

He makes two cups, placing one in front of Akechi as he moves to sit down on the small couch instead. His hands feel weirdly empty without a phone to occupy himself with, so he reaches for a discarded newspaper he finds nearby. He finds that certain words and names have been meticulously highlighted, but nothing about them rings a bell. They still don’t tell him anything about Akechi’s current scheme.

He takes a sip and to his surprise, his instincts kick in to tell him he’s being watched. Akechi’s eyes are fixed on him and amused, Akira realizes that he just wanted to see him drink the disgusting coffee. “If you expected me to spit it out, trust me, I’ve had worse than this. Thank you for the clothes, by the way.”

“You certainly made yourself comfortable,” Akechi snorts and he goes back to typing. He’s not able to stay silent for long, though. Akechi is a lot like the coffee he makes at Leblanc – he just needs to patiently let it brew.

“You’re not going to ask me what I’m working on?”

“Blackmail, I presume.”

“This cosmetics company was involved in very important research assigned by the government,” Akechi says, and Akira’s glad to find out he still enjoys the sound of his own voice. It’s very likely he just talks to himself when there’s no one present. “They’ve rebranded since, but they used to be a branch of a big pharmaceutical company. At the time, they were tasked with creating a cure for a very rare disease, thought to be a genetic mutation evolving since the bombing of Hiroshima.”

“From your tone, I’m guessing it was just a front.”

Akechi nods, leaning on the chair. “Such a disease doesn’t exist. All the test results were falsified. The ones I could access through hacking were nothing more than fakes. So I figured that similarly to Wakaba Isshiki’s research, if there’s anything left, it must be kept as physical evidence. In our digitalized world, it’s the best way to secure files.”

“We managed to find the documents,” Akira points out. “But for some reason, you’re still dissatisfied.”

“Sadly, I didn’t find out anything I wouldn’t already know,” Akechi makes a face as he takes a sip of the hot coffee. “It’s most likely enough to blackmail them, but we’re past that. I’ll need you to pull your old contacts to find that journalist. We’re exposing their research to the press.”

“You still haven’t told me what the research actually was.”

“Child experiments,” Akechi says, suddenly looking really far away.  
  


* * *

> In a brightly lit room you asked me if I want to become a hero. And I said----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Heroes I know would never-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------But if you say it’s what I need to do to be loved, then I’ll set the world aflame for your viewing pleasure. My justice is ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------.

* * *

  
  
During the week he spends at Akechi’s place, they barely speak to each other.

Akechi gets him a new phone, and even though it’s probably safe to come back to Leblanc, Akira finds himself unable to do so. A part of him is still scared that if he chose to go back to that attic, Akechi would once again disappear – this time for good, as if he violated some unspoken pact between them.

He calls the chief just to say that he’s alright, and he might be gone for a while. Sojiro knows better than to coddle him, but Akira still feels a ping of guilt once he hangs up. He can only hope his friends won’t come looking for him. He takes some comfort in the fact that at least Haru would understand.

He was able to contact Ohya, but she said it might take a couple of months for the article to show up in the newspaper. She needed more proof, but it’s a job she could handle on her own. Akechi is less than happy to hear it, but even he’s not as reckless as to act out of turn.

 _Blackmail is a lot like a game of chess_ , he told Akira once upon a time. Of course, it was a hypothetical criminal they were speaking of. Whatever it is this time, it feels bigger than both of them.

He never enters Akechi’s bedroom, content with his place on the couch. He’s able to get some clothes of his own, and a toothbrush, but he keeps everything he owns inside his bag, unable to taint Akechi’s apartment with his presence any more than he already did. For the first time in ages, he feels motivated enough to cook meals. This new Akechi doesn’t praise him, but he eats everything that’s presented to him like someone who hasn’t had a decent meal in quite some time. It’s the only thank you that he needs.

In the spare time, Akechi has him going through endless files and documents, presenting him with as little information as necessary. This time Akira doesn’t mind staring at the computer screen for what feels like hours, feeling like a part of a bigger mystery. Most of the time, Akechi isn’t even home and when he gets back, he looks increasingly angrier with each passing day. As if every time he walks through the door, he loses yet another part of himself.

There’s one evening when Akechi seems a little more like himself, and that’s when Akira decides to ask.

“Are you going to tell me about the job?”

Akechi crosses his arms, leaning against the wall, looking more tired than nonchalant. “Oh, you mean the calling card. I almost forgot I gave it to you.”

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you. It never did.”

“If you know me so well,” Akechi says with just a hint of annoyance. “Then you also know that everything I do has a purpose. I can’t afford to waste my time, unlike most people.”

“Then…”

“Then I’ll tell you about what you need to do when the time comes. I know it’s hard for you not to be the leader, but since you so _graciously_ decided to help me, at least try to put some trust in me.”

“You’re not the easiest person to trust.”

“Because I have no issues killing people who stand in my way? Besides, I’m not asking you to trust me. I’m asking you to believe in me.”

“Aren’t those essentially the same thing?”

Akechi scoffs. “No, they’re really not.”

“Who sent the calling card? If someone is posing as the Phantom Thieves, I should know about it.”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Akechi says in a voice that ends the conversation.

“You’ve killed someone again, didn’t you?”

Akechi avoids his gaze. “It was an accident. If you want to leave, you’re free to do so.”

“I won’t. I can see how it’s eating you away from the inside.”

“The problem,” Akechi snorts. “Is the fact that I don’t feel anything. I’d feel more guilty about going to sleep with my hair still wet.”

“Bullshit,” Akira gets up to invade Akechi’s personal space. “Everyone feels _something_. I can see how angry you are.”

He doesn’t move away. He doesn’t speak either.

“If you put it that way, maybe I do feel something,” Akechi agrees after a while. “But the more I go on, the less I feel. It’s just how we end up.”

“We?”

“Used toys,” Akechi replies flatly. “You are one too. That’s why no matter how hard you try, you can’t be happy. Toys are never happy without a purpose. The sooner you accept it, the less painful it will get for you.”

“Is this why you requested my help? To give me purpose?”

_Did you really want to spare me that fate?_

Akechi’s stubbornly quiet, so Akira speaks again. “I’m not as starved for you as you think I am. I just think if you’re plotting something, I’m probably the only person in the world able to stop you.”

“The fact that both of us co-exist," Akechi says slowly. "That we feel about each other the way we do – it’s enough to set this world on fire. I don’t think you’re starved. But I think you feel exactly the same way I do. You hate me so much it consumes you.”

“I think both of us have a hard time telling apart love from hatred.”

“You’re the worst storyteller I’ve ever seen.”

Akira raises an eyebrow at him, so Akechi continues. “I read your stories. Your friends didn’t know, did they? You published them in English, under a pseudonym. You hoped that writing about your anger was enough to make you feel less hollow. And you wrote, you wrote, until you were all but spent. And nothing you wrote filled the hole inside you.”

“You know, I always thought to myself that if you were the one to create that fake reality, I wouldn’t be able to shake myself awake.”

“Is this what you think this is?” Akira asks, clenching his fists uselessly at his sides. “If you read my stories, you know exactly how I feel about you. I’d never make you go through with it again.”

“No,” Akechi shakes his head. “You wouldn’t force me to feel the way I do about you.”

For some reason, he’s sure it’s the first and only time Akechi is going to admit it out loud. There isn’t much he can say to that.

Akechi’s eyes are a storm of red and something dark that, even after all this time, Akira still doesn’t recognize. “I’d set the whole world on fire just to give you purpose.”

It only makes sense that the same Akechi who spent his entire life murdering for love and validation couldn’t let go of his hatred, not even when falling in love. For someone who’s been hurt like he was hurt, even kindness seemed like just another form of aggression. When Akechi smiled, he smiled with a goal in mind. When he loved, he loved to destroy.

“You’re my rival,” Akira gets closer, just to get himself lost in that gaze. “I’d do the same for you.”

“I wouldn’t let you. I _didn’t_ let you.”

“I don’t need your permission. I never did.”

He lets his forehead rest against Akechi’s. Even the smallest touch makes Akechi shiver.

“Tell me how I can help you,” Akira murmurs, holding him close. “There must be something I can do.”

“Just do what you’re doing now. Distract me.”

They move into the kiss at the same time, Akechi’s hands gripping his shoulders so hard that Akira’s sure is going to leave a bruise. Their teeth clash in a rushed mess that should be expected after years of suspense and unresolved tension, but he still moans when Akechi lifts him off the floor with ease and throws him on the couch. Unlike Akira, Akechi definitely didn’t skip exercising, and he lets his fingers wander over the muscles under Akechi’s shirt.

He lets Akechi take him apart – starting with his clothes. He peels them off slowly, one useless piece of fabric after another, and Akira finds himself unable to stop shivering, feeling as if Akechi stripped him of something more than just his clothes.

It’s not like it’s his first time. But feeling so exposed under this version of Akechi, the one he still doesn’t know, makes him downright terrified in a way he hasn’t in a long time. He feels like prey, and Akechi’s touch does little to calm him down, every move as violent as if he meant to rip him apart.

That’s okay, though. He’d let Akechi do just about anything.

They fuck on every surface of Akechi’s messy apartment, and Akira’s never become so acquainted with the floor – not even when was still Joker running through the Metaverse. The only place where they don’t have sex is probably Akechi’s bed, and even though neither of them said a word about it, it would breach some unspoken line that neither of them is willing to cross.

He all but passes out from exhaustion with Akechi still inside him, but when he wakes up he’s tucked in on the couch, his glasses on the table, and a comforter draped over his naked body. Right next to his glasses he spots a glass of water and what must be painkillers.

“I figured you could use some after… everything,” Akechi comes into the room with his hair still wet from taking a shower. He’s wearing a loose sweater and comfortable jeans – something Akira would never suspect him to be caught dead wearing. It makes him look younger than Akira’s ever seen him.

He swallows the pills with Akechi’s eyes keenly observing the bob of his throat. “What?”

Akechi averts his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

“Is the poison kicking in?”

“Would only be fair after what you did to me,” comes a dry reply, and Akira doesn’t ask what he means by it. “Still, you really should be more careful. I could have killed you, I already tried once.”

“Would that really be so bad?”

Akechi looks at him long and hard. “You know, you’ve always been a fool. But I never thought you were actually stupid.”

Akira chooses to ignore him, and he puts his clothes back on with Akechi’s gaze still on him. “Now that we got this out of the way, what’s the job?”

“I thought it was quite obvious. You’re here to steal my heart.”

“The Metaverse no longer exists. How exactly am I supposed to do that?”

“I don’t think we need the Metaverse for that.”

Akechi throws something at him and Akira catches it mid-air, his reflexes sharp as ever. He’s surprised to find it’s a pair of scissors. He raises an eyebrow in question and to his surprise, Akechi sits on the floor in front of him, his lips forming a line as if he’s come to a difficult decision.

“You’re going to cut my hair,” Akechi says, his voice calm and steady. “That’s your first task.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Make it quick.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. “Akechi…”

“Call me by my first name. Might as well since you’re about to do the closest thing anyone’s ever done to murdering me.”

“ _Goro,_ then,” Akira wants to ask a very important question, but ultimately decides against it. “How short should I make it?”

“Up to you,” Goro says, voice a little strained. “I’m in your care.”

He lets the cold steel of the scissors drag across Goro’s exposed neck. He can’t help but smirk in satisfaction as Goro visibly shivers under the touch, at the same time arching himself to chase after it. There’s an obnoxiously purple hickey that _he_ left there, and there’s no way Goro hasn’t seen it when bathing, but for some reason, he wasn’t bothered by it.

Akira’s never cut anyone’s hair. Not even his own. He remembers going to the hairdresser with his mom when he was still a child, and he tries to recall the hairdresser’s movements. He asks Goro for a comb and he uses it to smooth some small tangles that Goro missed when brushing his own hair. He pushes the comb through his hair one last time, before cutting right at the edge of the comb’s teeth. Akira watches his long hair fall to the ground, and he notices that Goro’s eyes are closed, as if he doesn’t want to see it.

It feels more intimate than anything they’ve done since last night.

“Just so you know, if I look bad, I’m going to kill you,” Goro mutters under his breath.

“Then maybe you should have asked literally any other Phantom Thief for help,” Akira chuckles. “Maybe except Futaba and Ryuji. I feel like even Morgana would do a better job at this than me.”

“I only trust you.”

The words almost make him cut way too much. He pauses for a moment, waiting for his hands to stop shaking. “Don’t say things like that when I’m holding scissors.”

“If it’s so easy to get you flustered, then maybe I really should have asked someone else for help.”

“Just don’t talk until I’m done,” Akira advises and Goro does just that. He works in silence, trying to keep his cuts as even as possible. There’s only so much he can do with a comb and a pair of scissors, but it’s good enough for his first gig as a hairdresser. He brushes away some leftover hair with his fingertips, resisting the urge to kiss Goro’s neck.

“I’m done. You can open your eyes now.”

He sweeps off the hair off the floor as Goro dries his hair in the bathroom. He’s not smiling when he gets back, but he’s not scowling either, which Akira takes as a good sign.

“You changed my fringe.”

“I thought you’d look good like that.”

“It’s…” Goro hesitates as if trying to make sure nothing he’s about to say will come out as praise. “Satisfactory. Thank you.”

“Will you tell me what it’s about? Why don’t you go to a real hairdresser? If you went as far as stalking me, then surely going to hair salon wouldn’t put you in that much danger.”

“It’s not that I couldn’t go,” Goro plays with his new fringe. “I just really wanted it to be you.”

He could easily believe anything Goro said so far. But this line in particular causes panic to surge inside his body. In a second, he’s at Goro's side, grabbing him by the chin to force him to look at him. He’s never seen so many emotions in Goro’s eyes before, and somehow it’s a really bad look on him.

“Goro,” he says softly. “Tell me what’s wrong. Are you hurt?”

Goro turns his head sharply to free himself off Akira’s grip. Akira doesn’t give up easily, catching Goro’s wrists to keep him from escaping. This time he doesn’t meet resistance, but Goro still refuses to look him in the eyes. Akira feels nausea settle in his stomach, and he wonders if Goro feels the same.

“I’m right… Aren’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Goro says flatly.

“Is this why you’ve been acting strange? You know you can tell me anything.”

Goro finally meets his eyes, looking more determined than sad. Whatever storm rages inside him, he decides to go back to keeping it hidden.

“I suppose I do owe you some explanation after everything you’ve done for me.”

Akira sits quietly, waiting for him to speak.

“The company we stole files from dealt with child experiments,” Goro says sitting down next to Akira on the couch. “This much you already know. But I haven’t told you that they were one of the many researchers involved in the same project. One of those names you already know. It was Wakaba Isshiki’s team. And I was one of the subjects.”

Akira doesn’t know what to say.

“I wasn’t the only child they experimented on. There were many before me, perhaps even some after me. But I was the only _natural_ Persona user. You see, they managed to trigger awakenings in some kids, but it was all rather artificial, and the Personas created in the process, unlike mine, were rather weak. Perhaps that’s why I was able to live that long. None of the kids made it past the age of eighteen. They died in cages like the guinea pigs they were. I naively thought I’m better than them. But in the end, I was just a lab dog on a slightly longer leash.”

“You saw what I did that day in the engine room,” Goro continues. “Inflicting myself with madness. I did it as a last resort. I didn’t even hope to survive. No one’s ever told me just how much damage it causes to my body to use my powers – just by doing it to others. But I crossed the line. I didn’t know that at the time. But even if I knew, I wouldn’t do things differently. A part of me always knew I’m destroying myself – I just didn’t care.”

Akira feels sick, but somehow, he manages to say the words out loud. “You’re dying.”

“That’s very likely, yes. I can feel my brain deteriorating every single day. There are blanks in my memory that I can’t fill no matter how hard I try, and it’s only going to get worse.”

“Then the calling card…”

“You’re my only rival,” Goro says. “Always pushing me, always reminding me that I’m not good enough, as I fight uselessly against you, the chosen one, the hero, this world’s savior… But just this once, I want you to challenge me to live. Can you do it? Can you promise me you’ll steal my heart?”

“Goro...”

“Spare me your pity. You should know that I never wanted to die. But it’s not like I could easily find a good reason to live either. If I do live, it’s going to be the best revenge I can get against my dead father. I’m not quite ready to join him in hell, you see.”

He recalls that Shido’s execution happened just a little over three years ago, and the anniversary of his death is approaching soon.

_What a joke._

“But there’s a chance you won’t die?”

“The deterioration isn’t unlike a lot of diseases already known to medicine. I can slow it down with the right drugs. There’s also tests that can more or less give me an approximation of how much time I have left before my brain decides to collapse in on itself.”

“That’s why you were blackmailing those people,” Akira concludes. “It was more than just revenge. You needed money. You needed power.”

“Revenge is part of it,” Goro admits. “I spent my whole life despising my father when people far worse than he played with innocent lives on nothing more than a whim. I want to drag them down with me. If I die, I want to be sure I go out with a bang, to shine brilliantly one last time before I go out. I want to blind the world so that no one ever forgets I lived.”

Akira can sense it. Goro wants to drag him to hell as well. It’s the only reason why he’s here.

“You really are twisted.”

“You’re only realizing that now?”

“It’s sickening,” Akira continues. “What happened to you. What’s going to happen to you. But if dying in an angry rampage is all you care about, then I can’t help you. I shouldn’t have agreed to this in the first place.”

“Akira,” the name is small and helpless in Goro’s mouth. He hates it. “Please. I can’t do this alone.”

“I’ll help you expose the people behind it. In all honesty, if the Metaverse was still accessible, I wouldn’t hesitate to…”

He’s always been a murderer. He was just scared of getting his hands dirty.

“Here’s how it’s going to go,” Akira says, feeling the anger leave his body like air from a deflating balloon. “No matter what the results are, you’re going to tell me what they are. You won’t vanish on me. If you do, I’ll spend the rest of my life searching every inch of this globe until I find you and drag you to the depths of hell where we both probably belong. If it’s good news, I want to know. If it’s bad news, you won’t do anything reckless. We’ll take you to a doctor – the most brilliant doctor I know – and we’ll try to help you.”

“And if we won’t be able to?”

Akira kisses him hard enough to draw blood, only satisfied when he can taste it in his mouth. “Then you’ll have my body and soul. The way you always wanted.”

“No,” Goro pulls away, his fingers tight where they grip Akira’s shoulders. “When that happens, you’ll do the job I asked you to do in the first place. Steal my heart.”

“And how am I going to do that?”

Goro smiles looking happier than Akira’s seen him being in a while. He lifts his hand, mimicking a gun with his thumb and his index finger. He pulls the trigger. “ _Bang_.”

* * *

> It never changes, does it? Because of him I --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- his fault. --------------------------------------
> 
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> \--------------------------------I hate that I……………………………………………………..Please, I just want to----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Maybe this time I would---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------forgiveness-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------to be loved.  
>   
> 

* * *

They start sharing the bed, coming to the agreement without unnecessary discussions.

He’s able to fully sleep through the nights since god knows when, and he’s happy to find out just how clingy Goro gets when he lets his guard down in his sleep. Akira wakes up first, so he makes sure to always slip out of his grip before Goro wakes up.

 _Angelic_ , people used to call him in a different lifetime, and as he watches Goro’s face, for once relaxed, clutching the pillow beneath his head, he can’t help but think they were right. His hair looks lighter than usual in the morning sun, against the white sheets, sprawled around his head like a halo.

Something tells him he’s going to remember this particular moment for the rest of his life. So he lets his eyes soak the sight in front of him – Goro’s naked form, the gentle light surrounding him, and his own hands just inches away from Goro’s face.

There are so many moments of silence between them.

The silence after they’ve fought, loud enough that his throat is still sore the next day. The silence after they’ve had sex, Goro’s lips on his own as if he wants to steal Akira’s last breath for himself. The silence after Goro realizes that once again he’s forgetting something obvious, and he gets lost in his own sentence, unable to recall whatever he was about to say next.

He likes this silence, though. The silence of quiet mornings, on the rare occasion Goro manages to fall asleep next to him.

Goro’s eyes flutter open to look at him. The bags under his eyes seem darker with the shadows cast by his eyelashes.

“What are you doing?”

“Remembering you,” he allows himself to say.

Goro doesn’t snort or roll his eyes at him. “It must be nice to see me so defenseless.”

“Is this what you think when you watch me sleep?”

“You’re attractive. There’s a lot of things I think about when you’re asleep.”

“Sounds like you should wake me up when that happens.”

Goro’s usual snark seems to be slowly waking up. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Staring at me with those eyes,” he says, closing his own. “I’d hate to be reduced to nothing more than a memory. Please don’t turn this into another lovesick story.”

“I don’t think I’ll write anymore.”

Goro opens his eyes again to look at him.

“You were right,” Akira says. “I really did want to fill the emptiness inside of me.”

“Did it at least work?”

“No,” he replies softly. “Since I never feel hollow around you.”

Goro doesn’t say it, but from the way he averts his eyes, he knows the feeling is mutual.

“Even if you’re unable to steal my heart,” Goro tells him suddenly. “I won’t haunt you after I’m dead. I promise you as much.”

And then he says, or at least Akira thinks he says:

“When I was born, no one was happy to see me. My mother said only a single nurse at the hospital came to visit her and chat, seeing how lonely and sad she was. After I was born, I didn’t want to be fed. I was already rejecting everything this world had to offer.”

“But eventually, I gave in, ever-hungry to live, to survive, to hold on to my mother, my only lifeline. We clung to each other, both alone in the mess of my father’s making.”

_As my mother held me close to her breast, the nurse watched her feed this world’s destroyer with a faint smile on her face and said –_

__

_~~you~~ _

_~~did~~ _

_~~so~~ _

_~~well~~ _

_~~my~~ _

_~~child.  
  
~~ _

* * *

  
Some nights Goro comes home hurt.

This time it’s a gunshot wound, and even if it’s already taken care of, Akira still checks his bandages, his face a little paler than usual. Goro shoves him away with more force than necessary.

“I’m fine,” he says, his voice a little husky. “Fuck me.”

“You’re not…”

“I didn’t bring you here to pity me. Come on, Joker. Show me what you’re made of. I want my rival back.”

It seems to work. Akira closes the distance between them, slamming Goro’s body against the wall, ignoring the sharp grunt of pain that falls from his mouth. Goro arches his neck for Akira to mark him, and he never did ask why Goro allows him to do it in the first place, but he moans anyway when Akira’s lips close around his skin.

He can’t help but think this is just another way for Goro to destroy himself.

They take it to bed, Akira’s arms wrapped around Goro’s body, as they remain close, chest to chest, Goro completely out of it from the feeling of Akira inside him.

So he chooses this moment to pull the trigger, words aimed straight into his heart. “I love you. I love you, I love you.”

Goro sobs into Akira’s shoulder, biting into it to stop himself from making a sound.  
  


* * *

  
The winter is particularly cold this year, but Goro’s still sitting on the park bench covered in snow, an evening newspaper all but forgotten next to him.

He’s been sitting like this for a while it seems. His hair is covered in snow, and the newspaper is completely wet where it lies next to him. All these facts seem to be escaping his attention. 

He lifts his head ever so slightly as he hears Akira’s footsteps.

“Congratulations on the article,” he says. “The best thing you’ve ever written.”

“It’s still written under Ohya’s name,” Akira replies, sitting next to him. He lets the newspaper fall to the ground. “Safer that way.”

“How did your friends react?”

“Various degrees of being upset with me. I did vanish off the face of the earth for almost three months. Futaba said that she could have helped, but I explained it’s something only we could have done.”

He takes a good look at Goro. “You’re wearing that coat again.”

“It was a gift from someone I met in Europe,” he says absent-mindedly. “This is probably the second time I’m wearing it.”

Akira can’t help but recall their first meeting in the coffee shop just a few months ago. Goro seems to be reading his mind. “I couldn’t very well meet my rival looking pathetic.”

“Are the results back?”

Goro doesn’t reply, which is an answer in itself. It’s why he’s sitting here all alone in the middle of the night.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”

It’s the first time he’s ever heard Goro apologize to him. “Don’t be. You had your reasons.”

“I forget what they were,” Goro mutters more to himself than to Akira. “At first, I wanted to make sure that there will be someone to put a coin in my mouth when it’s my time to cross. I didn’t think I’d survive this. Those nights when I was gone, I was held at gunpoint more times than I could count. I could have ended it. But instead, I kept dragging myself to that apartment, where you waited for me. Like the loyal dog, I am.”

“Not even Styx is deep enough to drown you.”

Goro snorts. “Not even Styx would have wanted me.”

They’re both calm and Akira can’t tell why that is. It could be the snow falling around them, like an alien presence watching over them. It could be the silence of Tokyo, for once quiet, waiting for the approaching dawn and holding its breath.

“I don’t know why I’m scared,” Goro says, his breath a puff of air in the cold night. “Maybe because I never had to wait this long – engine room happened so quickly I didn’t even have to think about it. Then in Maruki’s reality… I was so determined to die on my own terms that I didn’t even think to be afraid.”

“But this,” he shakes his head with a nasty laugh. “This is just _rich_. This useless body my father gave me, my only gift from him… I never planned to go gentle into that good night, but this here isn’t a choice. I’m just falling apart and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

_Did you ever long for your father’s last name?_

“I think it’s normal to be scared.”

_To have him call you this one syllable you were so desperate to hear?_

“I don’t know if I’m more scared or just plainly pissed off that once again life fucks me over, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. I guess I haven’t felt scared for a long time. I had nothing left to lose anyway.”

_Is that why you’re unable to give me the three syllables I need?_

“What changed then? The fight is over. We’ve exposed the bad guys. Is there something you’re scared of losing?”

He can see Goro carefully analyze the question, but he knows better than to expect a response.

“Did you ever wonder what would happen if your hardly flawless plan didn’t work out?” Goro asks to change the subject. “Back then, in Sae’s Palace. Did you ever wonder what would happen if I killed you?”

Akira only owes him an equally evasive answer. “I thought to myself that there would be a lot of movies I’d end up not seeing. The best things always escape your grasp, when you can’t help but miss them.”

Goro looks at him in confusion and then laughs, a wonderful, melodious sound that he’s never heard from him. He only heard the fake version, like a radio edition of a song – this laugh is reserved for his ears alone.

As he sits down, he realizes that the happiness that he’s feeling is a fleeting little thing. He wants to hang on to it with his fingernails until they break and bleed. to keep himself anchored within that one moment. He realizes he’s no longer able to simply feel happy – he’s already anticipating some distant pain, a future worry that takes away any pleasure he could possibly be feeling.

He wants to play the sound of Goro’s laugh on repeat for the rest of his life. He wants to engrave the image of his rosy cheeks and shiny eyes. He wants to capture the life that’s still lit in this brilliant body and keep it caged in his own warm hands, keeping the flame sheltered from the wind that’s threatening to put it out.

He wants to selfishly swallow that flame – and have it burn him from inside out.

“You’ll never hear it,” Goro says, his head hung low. His fringe successfully covers his eyes, and Akira hates himself for giving him one in the first place. “The words you want to hear.”

“I don’t expect anything from you.”

“You do,” Goro accuses. “And I knew it from the start. I walked around executing my revenge, but this one… It’s my final act. To destroy you. To use that one leverage I always had over you – your stupid sentimentality.”

Akira watches him in silence.

“I didn’t expect it to backfire.”

Tears are flowing from his eyes, falling helplessly into the pavement as he leans forward.

“How do you do this?” Goro asks. “Why do you always win? I haven’t cried since… Since my mother’s death. And back then I promised myself, I’d never shed a single tear. And then, the one person I hate more than anything in this world is able to reduce me to this useless crying child again.”

“I just did what you asked me to,” Akira answers quietly. “I stole your heart.”

 _You don’t hate me._

_It’s just easier for you to think that you do._

Goro wipes the remaining tears with his glove. “What are we going to do now?”

We.

“What do you want to do?”

“What do I want to do…” Goro repeats as if the concept never crossed his mind before. Akira knows how that feels, just for different reasons.

He takes a deep sigh, bracing himself for what he’s about to say. “If you want to leave, I won’t chase after you.”

“What?”

“I told you before that if you vanished, I’d search every corner of the Earth to find you. I lied. I could never do that to you. I could never tie you down and ask you to just cast away who you are for my sake.”

“Even if it’s exactly what you did for me?”

“We’re different.”

“ _Bullshit_ we are.”

“In any case,” Akira pushes his cold hands deeper into the pockets. “I won’t stop you. I know that if you wanted to leave, you wouldn’t ask for my permission. And you wouldn’t care about my threats. But I just want to let you know that I’ll accept whatever you plan on doing next.”

“This is just you trying to avoid your responsibility for killing me.”

“I’ll kill you,” Akira says quietly. “If that’s what you want me to do. I’ve said my goodbyes today. That’s why I went to see them in the first place.”

Goro gets up, angry, fist clenched tight as he pulls Akira off the bench by the lapels of his coat.

“You stupid son of a bitch,” he spits. “You’d throw away your life, your friends, your family just to go to prison for murdering me?”

“It’s what you wanted.”

“What gives you the fucking privilege of telling me what I wanted?”

He doesn’t miss the slight shake of his hand as he lets go of Akira’s coat. His hands hang uselessly at his sides, devoid of purpose.

“I wanted your mind, your body, your soul. I wanted it all to myself. And then I thought – I didn’t want anyone else to have it after I’m gone. I wanted to ruin you for everyone else.”

“If you really did want to ruin me, you wouldn’t have come back.”

Goro raises an eyebrow at him, so Akira elaborates. “Can you imagine what I’d do were I to find out you died somewhere far away, without ever reaching out to me? Without saying goodbye? And before you say so, there’s no way I wouldn’t find out.”

“Would you have felt it in your heart?” Goro asks mockingly.

“I mostly meant Futaba being noisy,” Akira scoffs. “But I’m glad my sentimentality is rubbing off on you. Which brings me to my next point.”

He forces himself to look into Goro’s eyes as he slowly says it:

“Spend the rest of your days with me.”

“Huh?”

Light breaks the darkness somewhere on the distant horizon, lighting up Goro’s silhouette from behind and putting fire in his red eyes. “What did you just say to me?”

“You heard me.”

Goro looks at him with disbelief, too shocked by Akira’s words to hide the vulnerability in his stare. Akira places his cold hands over Goro’s warm cheeks, his pale skin offensive against the red of Goro’s. “We don’t know how much time we have left. So please answer me honestly – aren’t you tired? Can’t we just skip to the part where we’re happy, or at least somewhat content?”

It’s his turn for a surprise – Goro gently pries Akira’s hands off his cheeks, squeezing them in his own. He slowly peels off his gloves, clumsily pulling them down Akira’s hands.

“Your hands should never be cold,” he mutters.

Akira squeezes his fingers. “Is that your answer?”

“Happiness wasn’t meant for people like us,” Goro says bitterly, but he doesn’t move away. “We’ll never be content. We’ll always be hollow, waiting for the smallest rush of adrenaline to light that flame inside of us. But nothing will ever be enough. You’re a fool if you think otherwise.”

“Then why don’t we chase it together? I’ve felt more alive in these last few weeks with you than I have in a long time. Or at least not since entering the Metaverse for the last time. You said you’d set the whole world on fire to give me purpose. Are you really such a coward that you’d refuse to burn with me?”

“Is this really what you want? Do you really want to choose me over everyone else in your life? People, who are sure to love you, appreciate you?”

“I’ve done enough for people who love me. I’ve never done anything for myself.”

Akira reaches to his pocket, forcing a piece of paper into Goro’s hands. Goro looks at him in confusion when he recognizes his own calling card. He braces himself, and when he speaks again, he lets Joker take over his body.

“You’ve heard my message loud and clear, _Crow_. Your treasure is mine for taking.”

Goro closes his eyes, pressing the card against his mouth, as the tears he’s no longer willing to stop flow down his cheeks once more. He almost collapses on the ground, but Joker’s arms are there to keep him steady. His hands are gentle as he holds his most precious treasure yet.

As the world around them turns to gold, Akira promises himself a few things.

He’ll only have the brightest memories of Goro. His white coat, his hair covered in snow, his skin as pale as the frost covering the trees around them.

He’ll always have that image of Goro, clad in white, radiant and mesmerizing as he slowly burns out under the dying star.

Holding the shaking figure in his arms, just this once, Akira does the self-indulgent thing.  
  


* * *

_In the green-lit night I’ll come to you_

_I’ll slip into your dreams like a thief_

_The one thing I never let you call me_

_I’ll stay until the dawn breaks_

_You’ll feel me in your mouth like an aftertaste_

_A poison you’ll always welcome_

_Someday I’ll come back for what you stole_

_Until then my heart will be safe_

_Asleep in your warm hands_

_But I’ll allow myself to selfishly_

_Nuzzle against your fingertips_

_Seeking your warmth in the starless night_

_Just one last time_

_You’ll say your coffee is poisoned_

_With the taste of me_

_I’ll laugh and say_

_It’s only right_

_When you cursed me just with a gentle touch_

_Of your red-stained fingertips_

_Even if I could never be your thief_

_Tell me_

_Did I at least make your life less hollow?_

**Author's Note:**

> It probably doesn't show, but this story took such a long time to write. At some point, I felt as if it was physically repelling me, and till the end, I didn't believe I was going to publish it.
> 
> I hate that it never turned out as well as I hoped. It took me a long time to realize that maybe it's how this story is supposed to be. Chaotic, unpolished, a mess of my feelings translated into a love story. 
> 
> I'm really sorry if you disliked the poems. I'm sorry if you expected more of me. I can promise you I really did try my best, even if it doesn't show.
> 
> I want to thank everyone who supported me through writing it. Everyone who witnessed me having a panic attack, as I tried to give up on writing it on more than one occasion. You likely know I'm talking about you. Thank you for never giving up on me. 
> 
> ___
> 
> [@bey0ndplusultra](https://twitter.com/bey0ndplusultra) drew []()[this beautiful art](https://twitter.com/bey0ndplusultra/status/1312820503342587905?s=20) for the last scene. Thank you so much, and thank you [@cruellae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkabelladk/pseuds/cruellae), for making this happen!  
> ___
> 
> Find me here: [twitter](https://twitter.com/akihmorn)


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